


time to let go

by sundermount



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Piss, Post-Canon, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:13:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27230275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundermount/pseuds/sundermount
Summary: Dimitri is incapacitated by his own foolishness. Felix has a suggestion.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	time to let go

**Author's Note:**

> some days you hammer out 1k of piss fic and have no choice but to write some more.

Felix awakes to light touches along his flank. A warm hand runs up and down his thigh, soothing him into wakefulness, the softened callous of Dimitri’s hand catching on the raised scars along his hip that have already healed twice over.

The feeling of his entrance, sore and gaping from their earlier activities, pierces through the sleep-fog of his mind. He can feel Dimitri’s spend still in him, the feeling now erring on the side of disgusting-tacky instead of arousing.

He elects to ignore it in favour of rearranging himself and allowing sleep to claim him again. It is an amateurish, virgin’s oversight to not clean up after the act—it bodes ill for his comfort in the morning, given how many rounds they’d gone—but they have the rare free day to themselves, and this would be Dimitri's problem, in any case. His mess, his responsibility.

“Dearest.”

Felix pays him no mind. Dimitri gets like this sometimes; he’d been awakened more than once to the sound of his name being murmured in reverent tones that made his entire body burn, still unused to the easy affection showered upon him, all while Dimitri had traced a light finger over his cheek, down his chin, over the curve of his rear. He does not begrudge Dimitri making full use of slumber to indulge himself; Goddess knows how he would’ve fled or scarpered like a particularly jumpy cat if he had to bear the full force of his affection while awake.

He shifts to be more comfortable where he is sprawled over at least half of Dimitri. His muscles are loose and lax as he sinks further into slumber.

“Felix.”

He does not respond. 

“Felix?” Dimitri’s tone is slightly more harried. Felix groans, batting at what he thinks is Dimitri’s face to shut him up; anything less urgent than sleep could be seen to after the sun was in the sky.

“Felix, _please_.” Dimitri’s voice is more urgent this time, his efforts to disentangle himself from Felix’s embrace futile as Felix responds by curling harder around him, bare skin on bare skin. The mess on his stomach from earlier smears over both their fronts.

“Mrunghwhut.” Felix grumbles his displeasure, successfully jostled out of that easy, drowsing pre-sleep state. “ _What_.”

“I have to relieve myself,” Dimitri says. Felix feels him trying to sit up, only to lie back down again. “Argh- _ouch_ -Goddess.”

He curls back into Dimitri, kicking a leg out over his body. “I warned you,” he murmurs into his skin, a fraction more awake but still sleep-sluggish, struggling to form words and not at all trying to fight the heaviness of his eyes. “Nobody told you to ride a night and a day, then disregard all that to fuck me as hard you did. I could’ve done most of the work while you laid back. Your own fault.” He presses a kiss to an old, raised scar, scraping his teeth over flesh in an attempt at a bite.

Dimitri shifts, easing Felix’s leg off his abdomen—presumably to relieve pressure on his bladder. “I missed you,” he grouses. “You know I would crawl over hot coals on my hands and knees to be by your side. A hard ride spanning a night and a day is nothing in comparison.”

It is a testament to how sleep-addled and muggy Felix still is that he barely reacts to Dimitri’s sap. “We have been married for five years, not five months. Cease this.”

“No.” Dimitri’s arms tighten around him, hugging him closer. Felix’s leg curls tighter over him.

“Then suffer.” He burrows deeper into Dimitri’s side, nose pressed to his underarm, breathing in the soap-sweat-sex stink of him. “You are no longer a man of twenty and four, and you spend more time behind a desk instead of training these days.”

“And yet I remain in decent shape still, thanks to your insistence and vigilance.” He groans, then pushes Felix’s leg off him. “I’m sorry, love, but I _really_ do need to relieve myself,” he says, making another valiant attempt at sitting up before letting out an affected groan and collapsing back into the bed.

“ _Oh_ , damn Seiros and all of the Ten Elites—”

Felix snickers. “Suffer.”

The pout in Dimitri’s voice is clear. “Reluctant as I am to admit it, you have a point.” A hand raises—the only working, non-aching part of Dimitri now, it seems—and a finger brushes down the slope of his nose, feather-light. “Could I trouble you to help me sit up? And bring the chamber pot nearer to the bed?”

A thought creeps into his mind, and Felix pauses to consider it.

“You could. You know. In me.” His offer is delivered slowly, haltingly, muffled in Dimitri’s skin. It is not something he’s considered before, but there were a great many things he had not considered nor thought arousing before Dimitri. If Dimitri thought it a topic that warranted _further discussion_ during daylight hours, he could always feign ignorance and blame it on sleep-addledness.

Dimitri is silent. Felix clenches, and he can feel whatever leftover spend Dimitri had not licked out of him even more starkly. He slowly pushes himself up, feet sliding from under the covers as he moves out of Dimitri’s embrace. 

“I, ah.” Dimitri croaks. “I would not turn down your offer if you were serious about it.”

“You are not repulsed, then.” The anticipation he feels has an edge of giddiness and disbelief to it. Giddiness because—well. The disbelief is more at how he had doubted Dimitri would not want to try; always so _eager_ , so keen to explore anything that was not an immediate, aggressive _no_.

Felix pushes the covers down Dimitri’s body, his hand tracing over the bumps of Dimitri’s abdomen—softer than it was during the war, but firm with muscle borne of steady training and eating well. He straddles Dimitri, taking care to not put his full weight on him, his own hair falling in a dark curtain around him.

He must be quite the sight, given Dimitri’s gaze on him. It is slightly desperate with the need for relief of his bladder, now with an added tinge of arousal, the blue of his eye reduced to a sliver around the black of his pupil. The urge to duck his head away from Dimitri’s look of absolute rapture holds strong, even as his cock stirs between his legs.

Dimitri’s hands reach for Felix’s thighs, pulling him into his lap. One reaches back, to trace at the cleft of him; one finger dipping in and tugging at his rim, then two, which he leaves tucked in there. The thumb of his other hand rubs slow, steady circles on the inner skin of Felix’s thigh near his groin, where he is most sensitive.

“You’re still so wet.” His voice is hoarse from more than just sleep and their earlier bouts of fucking. “You’ll be even wetter after,” he says, as Felix’s hand drifts down to his own cock, holding it loosely, his arousal building slow in him and then taking a sharp upturn at what _that_ would entail. It jumps in his hand, plumping up and swelling thicker in the loose clutch of his fist.

He does not have any other measure of judgement besides himself—he and Dimitri were each other’s firsts, after all—but Dimitri always came so much, leaving Felix so _wet_ and _full_ after. His release would fill Felix to overflowing, dripping out and puddling beneath them; used to slick the way in place of oil when Dimitri could muster enough stamina to fuck another orgasm out of Felix, his teeth grit against the sensitivity of his just-spent cock, his body red and slicked with sweat and the veins in his face and neck bulging.

Felix sometimes thought he would choke on it—it being the way Dimitri’s cock swelled and grew that much bigger in Felix right before his sack drew tight against his body and he came, and _came_ , throbbing hotly inside of Felix, and it was all Felix could do to keep it in him. If their usual state of things already left the bed-linens drenched, offering himself up as a chamber pot would probably drown the bed.

His own exhales grow louder. “Enough talking,” he says, releasing his grip on his own cock. He rises up, dislodging Dimitri’s fingers from him, and reaches back to grip the massive girth of Dimitri, guiding it to his entrance. He is already half-hard, and the head of his cock is warm and soft where it presses against Felix’s rim.

Dimitri trembles, visibly restrained. “Is this the best position?” he asks. “Will you be comfortable? Would it not all just run out?”

His breath shudders out of him as Felix’s other hand presses on his abdomen to steady himself, where he knows would put the most pressure on an already-full bladder.

“You find it arousing, don’t you. You filthy _animal_ ,” Felix whispers. Dimitri grows harder in his hand, and his breaths take on that quick inhale-exhale he does when he is truly desperate, visible from the rise and fall of his chest. The muscles of Dimitri’s abdomen tense and relax under his hand. “I know you like to see your spend trickle out of me. Knowing that you have marked me in there like you do here.” He presses down on a bruise on his hip and moans, his voice hoarse and only half-exaggerated. Dimitri echoes him, an aborted half-twitch of his hips up into Felix.

“It would be the same for your piss, would it not?” Felix continues, his steady voice not betraying the tremor of delight that makes him shudder. “Touching me where your seed has already painted my insides so many times over, running down my thighs and wetting them. Making me smell like you, you dirty boar—”

“Please, Felix.” The hand on his thigh clenches as Felix sinks further down, Dimitri’s cockhead now in him.

He clenches, sleep now a distant memory as he presses down harder on Dimitri’s abdomen. “What are you waiting for? _Let go_.”

It is the same as when he submits to Felix, lets go under the firm guidance of his hand. A snapped thread pulled taut, and then unfurling; Dimitri’s relief palpable as the tension in his muscles all but melt away and the first, hot stream of it hits Felix.

Dimitri’s piss is hot and scorching. It pools inside Felix, a not inconsiderable amount already leaking from him, running down the insides of his thighs. He angles his body in an attempt to keep it in himself, almost laying flat on Dimitri. The position is ideal—allowing him to relieve the ache in his cock, pressing it hard between them, and keeping as much of Dimitri’s piss, collecting and pooling, inside of him as he can.

The hitch of his hips dislodges Dimitri from where he rests in Felix, who gasps as the hot stream from Dimitri’s cock runs down the curve of his rear. He fumbles for it, guiding Dimitri back in as piss continues to flow down and wet Felix’s hand. The searing-hot feeling of it inside him feels almost like come, just more liquid; slopping around in him with every controlled, forward fuck of his hips as he grinds his cock against Dimitri.

Felix doesn’t know how long it takes, but the stream eventually tapers off, then stops. Dimitri eases himself out of Felix—so careful as always—and his inhale is a quick, sharp sound that cuts through the quiet of their bedchamber as he traces his fingers over Felix’s rim again, further spreading the wetness already there.

“You were right,” he says, “Goddess. You never fail to know what appeals to me, Felix.”

“Let me go, you beast.” Felix is so _full_ and so hard—it feels like an entire lake’s worth of piss in him, and he takes a moment to wonder how long Dimitri had not bothered to relieve himself, mourning the loss as he bats Dimitri’s hands away. He holds his hips at an angle, crawling on his front over Dimitri to the edge of the bed, then clenching the muscles of his rim as tight as he can and fitting a hand over it as he climbs off. 

It is almost futile, for how much runs down his legs before he even manages to reach the chamber pot. He positions himself over it, tensing his thighs as he lowers himself and finally lets go—it is not as he’d imagined, more of it streaming down his legs than he’d wanted, the feeling making him shudder as if _he_ was the one relieving his own bladder.

Felix stalks back over to the bed after he is done, where Dimitri awaits with beckoning arms—outstretched and curling tight around Felix as he folds himself back into Dimitri's embrace, greeting him with a hard kiss. He takes utmost care to keep his piss-stained, piss-smelling hands away from Dimitri’s neck and head and face; half-pained with the desire to smear Dimitri’s own filth over every part of him, half-knowing they will give nary a care for bathing immediately after they fuck, and he does not care for any part of himself above the neck coming into contact with literal _piss_ just because he cannot keep his head and mouth and face away from Dimitri in sleep.

Their fucking is a fast, frantic affair. Felix guides Dimitri back into himself, the way eased by their earlier fucks and their combined wetness. He rides him hard into the bed; as hard as Dimitri surely had, to have incapacitated himself with something as inane as a _muscle ache_.

Dimitri’s hands are bruising on him, pulling him down on his cock as violently as he can bear and growling so loud Felix cannot hear himself breathe. His howl as he comes surely echoes and makes his release known to the guards stationed outside their rooms; as sure as it is made known to Felix from the swell and hot throb of his cock, his balls pulled high and taut against Felix’s rear. And his _come_ , so much of it, filling Felix up again.

He takes the opportunity to relieve himself after, his own urge now more insistent after achieving release. He stands above the chamber pot, cock in hand, pissing a steady stream into it. Something stirs in him at the sight of their fluids, intermingled; maybe the next time they did this could be when Dimitri services Felix with his mouth, come and piss overflowing and running down his chin, staring up at Felix with that glazed-over look in his eye

Felix yawns.

That thought could be further explored by the morning’s Felix. Exhaustion washes over him, lack of sleep and their exertions catching up to him all at once as he reaches for a rag and does a perfunctory swipe at the parts of his skin where he can feel damp lingering.

“I would offer to clean you up, if I could even move at all,” Dimitri says as Felix stumbles back to bed, crawling beneath the covers and curling into his side. His voice is low and his words slow, which Felix knows to mean he is tired. “You have free reign of my body if you wish to achieve further release, but I am—” his jaw cracks open on a yawn, “extremely tired right now.”

“In the morning,” Felix says, the end of it stretching out into another yawn as fatigue catches up to him. He won a war on four hours’ worth of rest a day, stolen whenever he could. He can barely last a day without at least seven now.

Felix is keenly aware of the spot he's missed, the one right behind his knee. He ignores it in favour of throwing an arm and leg over Dimitri, closing his eyes and falling back into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


End file.
